


Master

by isakain



Category: Koutetsu Sangokushi
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Sensation Play, Teasing, master/student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isakain/pseuds/isakain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rikuson has been away from his master for a week. But he hasn't forgotten a single thing... not even the man's touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master

**Author's Note:**

> So this is one of my absolute favorite Shounen-Ai animes, and I have found a severe lack of it around on the web, even though it seems to have been popular for a time in Japan. So I thought I would correct this and write a bit of fic. :> I dunno if anyone will even read this or watch it, but if you are interested, Koutetsu Sangokushi can be found with the complete set of episodes on Veoh. The uploader classified it as mature, so in order to see them all with English subtitles you will need to sign up, but I thought it was worth it. Anyway, enjoy my awkward porn!

Rikuson could not remember a time when he had slept all through the night. Correction; he could not remember a time when he slept all the through the night _without his master_. They had only been apart for a week now, but it was dreadfully lonely, and the Crimson Warrior’s chest was constantly feeling tight and agitated. Lately when his chest felt that way, he would find some place to brood, and he would turn the pendant his master had given him over and over in his hand.

But he would never take it off.

Ryoutou pestered him the first few times it happened. But eventually his devoted friend and self-proclaimed little brother realized it was useless to snap Rikuson out of it. And no one else even bothered. Sonken had tried at one point, had actually been a few yards from the lost-in-thought boy, only to be stopped by a shake of the head from Shuuyu.

This was a loss that Rikuson had to overcome on his own. And even the others could see that Koumei’s influence would be a very difficult thing to shake from Rikuson’s subconscious, if they could even shake it at all.

During the days, Rikuson spent his time with his friends, who tried desperately to distract him, and by evening they had practically succeeded. And then when night fell, all of his feeling s and his longing came rushing back, and the cycle began anew. Tonight was no different.

Rikuson woke in the middle of the night, his eyes flicking open for just a moment before he groaned and rolled over under the blankets. At this point he wouldn’t even look towards the window to find the position of the moon. He knew better than that. A sigh worked its way past his lips as he settled himself, and he began to doze.

And then he felt something light glide over his naked bicep.

It was extremely light. Light as a feather, and he knew that touch. He knew that touch because it _was_ a feather. Feathers, actually, plural, if the expanse of the sensation was any indication. He felt his chest tighten, and he wanted to roll over, to tumble out of his bed and jump to his feet, and run blindly into his master’s arms. But his body would not move.

He knew his master was there. Koumei was inches away from him. He could smell peonies and tea and the wind. They were so close… he felt a shift in the blankets behind him, thought he heard a faint rustling of feathers. Rikuson tried to open his eyes but he couldn’t. No part of him would move. His heart thumped noisily in his ribcage like a rock trapped inside of a drum.

Feathers slid from his wrist and along his arm to the base of his neck, and Rikuson would have fidgeted if he could. The blanket was being tugged away, and he felt the edge of it slip out from between his armpit and his torso, over his waist and then his hip, and it stopped at the top of his thigh. For a moment Rikuson thought he felt a hand. A warm, careful hand through the double layer of blanket and his own loose silk sleepwear. He wanted to feel that hand on his bare back, for the warmth to seep into his very bones to ward away the chill of the moon and the stars.

No such luck.

Instead, the caressing feathers in Koumei’s fan made a reappearance. It started in the place it had left off last, at the base of his neck. Rikuson could hear himself suck in a gasp, feeling the longest feather in the very center of the fan tickle a straight path from his nape down the shallow “S” of his back and stopping just before reaching the top of his backside and the hem of his tied trousers.

He thought he felt that hand again, soothing the dip at the very base of his lower back where the tickle from the feather had been particularly maddening. He felt a tug from his front, and his sleepwear was suddenly a bit _too_ loose. And it was being peeled away, pulled down until the ties were as far down as his blanket. The cool night air blew in from his open window and raised gooseflesh on his newly bared backside, hip and thigh.

The feathers were back again, and Rikuson would have gasped with the way they slid harmlessly with full contact across his entire backside like a giant dry tongue, only to pull away and leave a feeling of silk in their wake. He still couldn’t make a sound, but he knew his face was red. He could feel the heat, and he knew his master must have felt it too, because his sharp ears picked up a quiet chuckle somewhere immediately behind him.

For too long, Koumei toyed with him. The same tickling strokes with light variations, and occasionally a whisper of a touch from that warm hand.

But when the feathers returned again, this time the touches were not nearly so innocent. The longest feather slid right over the grove of his ass and followed it down as far as it could go. Rikuson knew he had gasped, but he also had not made a sound. Was this his master’s witchcraft?

By the fourth stroke Rikuson was hard. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way… that this was not the sort of love a pupil should have for his master, but his body said otherwise. And the feathers moved so sensually that Rikuson had little time or inclination to think too deeply on the subject.

The first time the feathers tickled his cock, he yelped. Well, he could feel it. He was absolutely certain now -- as the vibrations from his throat traveled upwards without sound-- that his master had rendered him unable to speak or move. He heard footsteps, and he closed his eyes. Perhaps he would be caught now… Taishiji always made his rounds at odd hours.

But all he saw was white fabric, and the scent of peonies grew stronger. Yes, his master really was here! Rikuson wanted so badly to move but he couldn’t. He could not even shift his head to see his master’s face.

Instead he could only watch out of the corner of his eye as Koumei raised his fan again.

The tip of the longest feather slid along the underside of his cock, finishing off with a tickle to his foreskin. Rikuson’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Mercilessly, Koumei continued to tease, and Rikuson would have moaned when the feathers dipped into his belly button, would have keened when his master stroked over his erect nipples—

The feeling was building so quickly that Rikuson almost had no idea what was truly happening. Perhaps he was dreaming after all… it had to be a dream. He was a teenager, and of course he was not so innocent when it came to his own body. He had urges, and he took care of them. But this was so very different. This was his master, his beloved master!

Somehow it only made his desperation for release that much stronger.

He could feel waves of energy coming off of Koumei. It was a feeling unlike any other. He could imagine the current of his master’s power, moving from his beautiful head down to his toes and back up again, moving through his arm and becoming charged when it reached his fan. The feather tip stroked across his leaking glans and the vision made absolute sense.

Rikuson was delirious with pleasure. He could feel himself throbbing against his own thigh, leaking onto the bed. He was so very close, and all it had taken was a few feathers.

It took him a moment to realize that he had his voice back, and by then he had already let loose a series of gasps and moans as the feather slipped over the slit in his cock, dragging his precome out with it.

“M-mas… master…!”

He got another chuckle in response, and the feathers moved away.

“What a naughty boy… you should be resting.” Koumei’s voice was like velvet, and it flowed into his ears and settled deliciously in the back of his head.

“Master Koumei, I…. I need—“

Rikuson never got to tell Koumei what he needed. His master knew very well what it was. The feathers returned, and the Crimson Warrior let out a cry of mangled pleasure and sensation. He was so hard it hurt, and his master was _still_ teasing him!

And then the bed dipped, and now Koumei was sitting in front of him. Rikuson watched through heavily lidded brown eyes as his master’s hand found his length instead of the fan. That warm, gentle hand without the faintest trace of a callous closed around him and squeezed. Koumei dragged his hand up, pumping Rikuson with almost the same pace with which he had moved the feathers.

But it didn’t matter. Just feeling that hand was good enough. His master had never touched him here before, and Rikuson was hypersensitive as it was. Koumei could sense the effect his hand had on the boy, and his fist tightened and he swiveled his wrist.

Rikuson sucked in a sharp gasp, his belly tightening as he came explosively, pearly ribbons shooting over the mattress. His master’s hand slowed again, but continued to pump and pull anything that remained from Rikuson’s body.

His eyes slid closed, and he still could not move, so he simply lay there panting and gasping. When he opened his eyes again, his master was gone from view.

“Master?”

Silence. And then he felt the presence fade altogether.

“Master Koumei?”

Rikuson’s instinctive reaction was to sit up, and he did. Koumei was gone.

“Koumei –sama!”

He tumbled out of bed, tripping over his sleepwear which were still bunched around his thighs, and lurched to the open window. He gripped the frame and leaned out into the night, frantically searching for a glimpse of silver hair, straining to hear the sound of rustling feathers.

But all he saw was the distant ocean, and all he heard was the swaying of flowers from Sonken’s court garden.

And all he was left with was a memory of a voice and the scent of peonies.


End file.
